I got a call from my friend, Brad, asking me to speak at a local rally to support veterans. I have to admit I was a little apprehensive because, despite my propensity to advocate for veterans, I had never participated in a rally for any reason.
Brad said he expected hundreds of our neighbors to gather in a local park where we live in Coronado, Calif., for a few speeches and to pay tribute to our veterans. We’d then march to the busiest intersection on the island, where we could show our support for the nearly 50,000 service members leaving the local naval bases during rush hour.
Considering the circumstances, I wanted to help my friend, and I couldn’t think of any downside to supporting my fellow veterans and those who are currently serving in the military. For me, this was a different kind of call to action — but Brad was a different kind of friend.
In 1998, another friend insisted I meet Brad due to our mutual interests in supporting veterans and the fact we’re neighbors. I had heard rumors of Brad’s storied past, and I knew he had been in poor health for a few years, so I didn’t know what to expect.
I have to admit our introduction was “unique.” When we arrived at his house, Brad was watching the news on television while reclining in what looked like a Barcalounger, and he was sipping on a bottle of Guinness beer. It quickly became apparent Brad was in great discomfort, and the combination of pain medication and stout beer was having an effect, albeit not the desired effect. Without getting out of his chair, he greeted me with a weak handshake and whispered in a hoarse voice, “Nice to meet you, Al.”
He looked somewhat defeated but was eager to share his story with me. After all, he was a professional storyteller, and he had a helluva story to tell.
As an NBC News foreign correspondent, Brad reported from war zones and refugee camps around the world, including the Middle East, Africa, South America and Asia.
Brad covered conflicts such as the former Soviet Union’s war in Afghanistan, where he embedded with the armed resistance known as the Mujahideen as they fought the occupying regime. He lived among the refugees in massive camps along the Afghan/Pakistani border, where he helped facilitate the airlift of war-wounded children to the United States for crucial medical treatment.
Brad reported from Botswana, Zambia and Zaire (now Democratic Republic of Congo) to cover the struggle against apartheid, and he was in Colombia, Bolivia and Peru to cover the drug wars.
He was on the front lines during the Persion Gulf War, as he reported on Operation Desert Storm. Brad embedded with the 1st U.S. Marine Division to cover the Battle of Khafji and the liberation of Kuwait, reporting live from Kuwait City with NBC News anchor Tom Brokaw. Soon after, he moved into northern Iraq to cover Saddam Hussein’s forces’ brutal suppression of a Kurdish uprising that led to yet another refugee crisis.
Unfortunately, that’s about the time when Brad’s career as an award-winning journalist came to an end. A debilitating injury to his spine was the direct result of the demanding nature of his work, and Brad’s doctors believed his exposure to depleted uranium used in the U.S. military’s armor-piercing artillery had caused his Stage IV throat cancer.
Unfortunately, surgery to fix Brad’s back failed, and treatments for his cancer were ineffective. By the time I met Brad, his only source of comfort, aside from narcotics, was his recliner chair to alleviate the pain in his back, stout beer to soothe the pain in his throat and the hope he’d live long enough to see his newborn son, Morgan, grow up and start his own family.
At that time, Brad described himself as “crippled, almost mute, depressed, strung out on narcotic medications and dying.” However, while celebrating Brad’s 50th birthday, Morgan shouted, “Get up, Daddy!” Hearing his young son’s plea ignited a fierce determination to fight for his life and explore alternative healing paths. He committed to a strict regimen of yoga, fasting, a plant-based diet and other holistic components of a traditional Indian system of medicine called Ayurveda.
I never would have believed it had I not seen it for myself. Not only was Brad liberated from the recliner, but he ditched his pain meds, shed more than 50 pounds and his cancer went into remission.
I witnessed Brad go through a full transformation, from being a tragic hero at the end of a rope to a resilient advocate and force for change. Despite finding his new identity,
Brad has never turned his back on those from his past. Matter of fact, he has developed a deep empathy for those affected by war, particularly veterans, and he has taken action to support them.
Recently, Brad and his now-grown son collaborated as media partners with Honor Flight San Diego. They flew 175 Vietnam War veterans to Washington, D.C., to visit memorials dedicated to them and their fellow veterans. The flights provided the veterans with a deeply impactful experience, with many describing it as life-changing. Upon their return to San Diego’s airport, I remember several of the veterans saying the homecoming provided the long-overdue welcome they never received.
In regard to Brad’s latest project, Coronado Rallies for Veterans, it went exactly as he planned, except for the moment a young woman dressed like a fairy danced in front of me while I was speaking on the bullhorn and showered me with flower petals. Yet, with my ego still intact, hundreds of locals marched to the intersection carrying homemade signs, while thousands of service members drove by and honked their horns in support.
Brad’s transformation is a powerful testament to finding new purpose and meaning after facing adversity, demonstrating that even after a career of reporting on conflicts, the commitment to those who served continues. This shift highlights the ongoing need for advocacy and support for veterans, ensuring those who have sacrificed so much receive the care, resources and recognition they deserve.
Having navigated his own recovery journey, Brad is uniquely positioned to champion veterans’ needs, and it’s for this reason I wanted to help him with this rally — it was the least I could do.
As always, please share your thoughts by emailing me at al@pvamag.com.
